Lois Lane Tells All

  Nick said, “She wanted drama for the paper, didn’t you, Pat?”

  Her jaw set, she nodded. “I had to do it. We didn’t have any good stories and Mark had these charts—”

  “Oh, God. Damn those charts.”

  Pat shrugged. “I got to thinking how a spate of seeming murder attempts would get the paper going again.” Pat clasped her hands before her and sent Susan a serious look. “I hope you don’t mind, but I thought that you, more than anyone else, would understand. This paper is all I have—” Pat’s voice broke, and it took her a moment before she could speak again. “I’ve been working there since I was nineteen, and oh, what an operation it was then. We had two reporters and an editor, and people really cared. They’d stop by and invite us to cover their events—not like now, when they want you to come but not ask any questions.” Pat sighed. “Things have changed. Somehow we’ve become—” She looked at Mark. “What was that word you used?”

  “Irrelevant.”

  “Yup. We’ve become irrelevant, and I just couldn’t let that happen. That paper is necessary to Glory. Without it, no one would ever know what was going on in town, or who won the Baptist Bake-Off, or anything.” Pat spread her hands before her. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

  Mark frowned. “But Susan or someone else could have gotten injured.”

  “I made sure the accidents were things that wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  Nick sighed. “You’ll have to tell that to the judge, Pat.”

  She paled. “You’re going to arrest me?”

  “I have to. You understand that, don’t you?”

  She gave a jerky nod.

  “The local prosecutor will have to decide how this goes down. It’s possible you might plead to lesser charges; I don’t know. It would help if Susan’s willing to speak on your behalf.”

  “I’ll do it,” Susan said without pause. She locked gazes with Mark.

  He read the unspoken question in her eyes and heard himself say, “I’ll speak to the prosecutor, too.” Regardless of his personal feelings about Pat’s actions, he couldn’t withstand Susan’s pleading gaze.

  Nick jerked his head toward his car. “Come on, Pat. I’ll book you and you can post bail and head home. Won’t take more than twenty minutes.”

  She sent Mark a sour look. “I guess this means I’m losing my job.”

  “I’m afraid so. You crossed some lines, Pat. You’re supposed to report the news, not create it.”

  Nick shut the trunk of his car and carefully handcuffed Pat’s hands. “That hurt?”

  “No.”

  “OK, then. Let’s take a ride to the station.”

  They left and Roxie turned to Mark and Susan. “Wow. What a night! I bet you two have a lot to do at the paper.”

  Mark frowned. “I was going to 1—”

  “I’m sure you and Susan can work it out. I think I’ll step back inside the diner and get a to-go latte. I just can’t get enough of Connie’s pie, either.” As she spoke, she backed away toward the diner. She waved to Susan and Mark. “See you guys later.”

  Within moments, Mark and Susan were standing alone in the parking lot. The lone streetlight clicked on, flooding the semidarkness with a golden light as the faint hum of cicadas began to lift from the trees.

  Mark glanced around the town square, at the neat rows of petunias that bordered the walk, the arch of tall oaks overhead, the faint outline of the statue of the town founder perched on the square marble base, neat benches surrounding it. “I’m going to miss this town.” The realization made his heart ache a little more.

  “We’ll miss you, too,” Susan said softly.

  “I have a life in Raleigh.” He winced at the almost defiant sound of his own voice.

  “I know,” she said simply. The streetlight bathed her red hair in a warm glow and highlighted strands of pure gold. “We all have to do what we have to do. It’s a cliché, but true.”

  He rammed his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching out for her once more. He had to stop this craving, this desire. But he couldn’t see her without a deep, unfilled ache in the region of his heart. “Susan, I wish … I wish things were different. That I didn’t have my responsibilities, and that you could leave your dad and—”

  “Mark, don’t. We are who we are. I … I’m a Glory girl.” She smiled ruefully. “I used to blame my dad for that fact. I used to be so angry with him for trapping me here.” She tilted her head to one side, a peaceful look on her face. “Now I can’t imagine living anywhere else. No, I don’t want to live anywhere else.”

  “Ever?”

  “Ever. This is who I am. It has nothing to do with my dad.” She looked around the quiet square, her lips curving gently. “I love this town. I’ve made it my home. And I need it far more than it needs me. This is where I belong.”

  Mark nodded and rubbed his chest. For one wild moment, he wondered if he could change, if he could move to Glory and open a branch office. But what if things didn’t work out with Susan? There were no guarantees, and he was a man who relied on rock-solid numbers and certainties.

  “Susan, whatever happens, I wish you luck. You’re … you’re a hell of an editor.”

  Something flickered in her eyes. “Thanks. That means a lot.” She gave a breathless laugh. “Speaking of which, I’d better head over to the office and get to work. I have a long night ahead of me if I want to rework the front page in time to get it to print. I guess you won’t be in again?”

  “I still have to empty my desk. I’ll do it in the morning.”

  “I won’t be in.” She took a swift breath, then stuck out her hand. “Good-bye, Clark. It was great working with you.”

  He looked at her hand, as elegant and graceful as she was. He reached for it, but the second his skin touched hers, he forgot his decision to make a smooth exit. He grasped her hand, his fingers twined with hers. “Susan, please. We have to find a way to—”

  She yanked her hand away, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Good-bye, Mark. And good luck.”

  Then she was gone, walking quickly down the sidewalk toward the newspaper building, leaving him alone in the parking lot, cicadas chirping all around.

  Chapter 21

  “You’re an idiot.”

  Mark put the last folder into the box on his desk.

  “A complete and total idiot. An idiot’s idiot. The idiot of all idiots, and—”

  “Roxie, that’s enough. I don’t want to hear any more.”

  “Fine, but you know I’m right. That’s why it hurts.”

  He sighed. “You can’t stop, can you?”

  Roxie leaned forward. “Mark, you’re miserable. So is Susan.”

  “She loves this town.”

  “And you love numbers. That doesn’t mean you two can’t find some compromise.”

  “We’re not the compromising sort of people.” He handed a box of files to Roxie. “Here. Make yourself useful.”

  He picked up the final box and looked around his empty office, his gaze flickering across the aisle to Susan’s. It was empty, a mishmash of notes scattered over her desk. “She did a helluva job on this morning’s paper.”

  “It was phenomenal. I think the paper will do well. Susan’s going to raise the prices on the ads once circulation increases.”

  “A few more editions like this morning’s, and she’ll do it.” Mark walked into the hallway, Roxie following.

  As he reached the empty reception area, his cell phone rang. He set the box down and pulled his phone from his pocket.

  “Mark, it’s Doc Wilson. Do you know where Roxie is?”

  Something about the brisk way he spoke made Mark stiffen. “Yes, she’s right here.”

  “Thank God. I need to talk to her.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  Doc hesitated briefly. “It’s Susan Collins.”

  The world around Mark settled into a cold haze. From a long distance, he heard his voice, calm and authoritative, ask, “What’s happened?”


  His soul froze as he waited. Is she hurt? Was it a car wreck? She fell? Damn it, she has all of those power tools, what if—

  “It’s Susan’s father. He collapsed this morning.”

  Relief slammed into Mark, and he found himself sitting in a chair, his knees shaking.

  Roxie bent down and looked into his face, her eyes wide with concern.

  He shook his head.

  Doc continued, “It was a massive stroke. He’s alive, but—we just don’t know. Susan’s here alone, and I thought she should have someone with her.”

  Mark felt as if every ounce of energy had been sucked from him. She’s okay. She’s not hurt or injured or—but that’s not true. She loves her dad. He forced himself to swallow. “Roxie and I will be there right away.”

  “Good. I’ll keep Susan here until then. I don’t want her to be alone.” Doc cleared his throat, his voice suddenly husky. “She’s taking it hard, Mark. Harder than I thought she would.”

  Mark nodded blindly. Susan always seemed tough as nails, but underneath was the woman who wrestled to maintain the identity of the newspaper she loved, the woman who supported her community and was a good friend to dozens of people around her, the woman who couldn’t resist the world’s largest puppy, the woman he loved.

  He closed his eyes as tears flooded them. I love her. I’ve stupidly been fighting it, but I do.

  “Mark? You still there?” Doc’s voice was tinged with impatience.

  “Of course.” Mark stood, galvanized to action. “Rox and I are on the way.” He rammed the phone into his pocket.

  “Susan?” Roxie’s voice cracked.

  “No, her father. She’s at the hospital and she needs us.”

  Hold on, Susan. I’m coming.

  “Susan?” A Styrofoam cup of coffee was gently placed in her hands.

  Susan looked up and blinked, trying to focus. Doc Wilson. Oh, yes. They were in the hospital. Dad had—

  Her throat clamped shut, her swollen eyes filled again, and her face crumpled like a wrinkled shirt dropped to the floor. Like one of Dad’s shirts. Oh, God. “I was doing the laundry.”

  Doc settled into the chair opposite Susan’s. “You were what?”

  “I was doing the laundry when Dad—” She closed her eyes, tears dripping down her cheeks. “I heard a thump in the other room and then Krypton began to bark, and I just knew. I don’t know how I knew, but I did and—” She held her breath, trying to stop a sob.

  Doc took the coffee and replaced it with a handful of tissues. “Don’t give up hope. He’s fighting. He might make it.”

  Susan mopped her cheeks. “I left the clothes in the dryer and now they’ll be so wrinkled.” She gave a watery laugh. “Not that it matters.” A sob cut through her words, and just like that, she was crying again, hard. “D-D-Doc, I’m s-s-sorry. I can’t s-s-seem to quit.”

  Doc scooted to the chair beside Susan’s and held her hand.

  “Please tell me he’ll be OK. Just say it. Please—”

  Doc patted her hand. “Easy, sweetheart. You’re not alone. We all love you, and we’re all here for you.”

  “I know,” she said, clasping his hand.

  Doc’s beeper sounded. He glanced at it and grimaced. “I have to go. Do not leave this room, do you hear me? Not by yourself.”

  “Of course.”

  The beeper went off again, and he cursed as he strode toward the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “OK.”

  And just like that, she was alone. She was used to spending a lot of time by herself, but this was different. Now she was really alone. It was just her … and no one else.

  Tears choked her. Dad, please fight it. Please, please, please. She placed her elbows on her knees and dropped her head into her hands. Oh, God, I can’t bear this. Please help me carry this. I can’t—

  Then she was hauled to her feet, strong hands pulling her against a broad, steady shoulder, muscular arms enfolding her into a wonderfully secure hold. She clung to Mark, her hands fisted in his shirt as she dropped her face against his shoulder and cried.

  Mark closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to her head as she sobbed, wet, sloppy sobs like a lost, forlorn child. He rubbed her shoulder and murmured, “It’s OK, Susan. I’m right here,” over and over. He held her tighter and she burrowed into his arms, leaning against him.

  Finally, she was letting him close. And finally, his heart chipped through the doubt that had kept him immobile. This is the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. Regardless of the problems that may lie ahead, this is the one I choose to be with, forever.

  It was that easy. That simple. How had he allowed his stupid thinking to make it so hard?

  Susan finally sagged against him, her knees buckling slightly. Mark swung her into his arms and carried her to the couch, where he cuddled her on his lap and held her, feeling peaceful assurance mixed with deep sadness for her. She loves her father, as difficult and complicated as the relationship is. Because that’s the sort of woman she is.

  He’d been such a fool. He couldn’t possibly live without her anymore.

  He rubbed her back, his heart aching at the child’s wail he heard in her sobs. “Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured against her hair. “It’ll be OK. I promise. Just hang in there.”

  He held her close and let her cry. Sometimes that was all a man could do, and he did it with his heart just as full and just as loving as hers. Whatever she needed, he’d provide. He just prayed she’d believe him. Her entire life, people had walked out on her: her mother had left physically and emotionally, and her father had littered her life with broken promises and a lack of care. Then he had demanded the one thing she couldn’t give up—the security she’d found in this community—and packed to leave when she refused.

  Mark rubbed his cheek against her hair, settling into the couch to engulf her deeper into his embrace. When the time was right, he’d tell her he loved her. For now, he’d just show her.

  Chapter 22

  Four days later, Susan stood in the kitchen doorway and sighed. Krypton wagged his tail when she looked his way.

  She had to smile. “We have to get things ready for Dad, don’t we? He’ll be back home in a week or two.” She dropped to her knees and engulfed the dog in a hug, dropping her face into his soft fur. For a long time they sat there, neither moving, the puppy panting softly. Finally, Susan lifted her face. “You’re a good dog, aren’t you?”

  He wagged his tail and looked eagerly into her eyes.

  She chuckled. “I think someone wants a snack.” She rose and fetched a treat from the bin by the sink, then Krypton pranced off, his prize held gently in his mouth.

  “Hi, Susan!” Roxie’s friendly voice filled the house as the front screen door creaked open and slammed closed. Krypton barked loudly. “You home?”

  “In here!” Susan called.

  “Down, Krypton,” Roxie commanded. Footsteps sounded as she crossed through the living room and came into the kitchen, the puppy hard on her heels.

  Roxie set several bags on the counter. “I brought you some necessities.”

  “No food, please. Every Baptist in town has been by already. Just look.” Susan opened the fridge door and Roxie gasped.

  “Good God, there must be—six, seven, eight casseroles in there!”

  “And two pots of soup, a pan of lasagna, three salads, and a Boston cream pie.”

  “Wow. That’s a lot of love.”

  “They’re good people. I just don’t know how they’re not all two hundred pounds overweight.”

  Roxie closed the refrigerator door and cast a shrewd glance at Susan. “Let me guess—you haven’t touched any of this food. Mark said he couldn’t get you to eat a thing.”

  Mark. Until this morning, he’d been with her nonstop since Dad’s illness, even sleeping on a recliner in the waiting room at the hospital. She went to sleep knowing he was there, a call away, and when they came home, she awoke every morning to the smell of bacon or
pancakes or whatever delicious food he thought might tempt her to eat.

  She couldn’t imagine what she’d have done without him. She couldn’t imagine how she was going to handle it when he left again.

  And he would.

  He hadn’t said anything, but he’d been on the phone more and more lately, discussing work stuff in an urgent, hushed tone. Then, this morning, he’d told her he had to leave but he’d be back.

  She didn’t expect him to return, despite his words. She felt it in his voice, in his looks … the weight of something unspoken.

  “I brought Häagen-Dazs.” Roxie pulled two pints of ice cream out of the bag, along with dark chocolate sauce, caramel sauce, and a can of whipped cream.

  “That can’t be good for me.”

  “Right now, everything is good for you.” Roxie’s expression softened. “I’m glad your dad is doing better.”

  “The doctor says it will be awhile, but he’s almost out of the woods.”

  “Sometimes you have to pamper yourself a little, to ease your way over a rough time. And chocolate sauce is the perfect medicine.”

  “We’ll give it a try.”

  Roxie caught sight of a huge stack of pizza boxes stacked beside the fridge. “More Baptist generosity?”

  “No. Ethan.”

  Roxie’s brows raised as she went to start a pot of coffee. “There must be fifteen boxes here!”

  “He comes by three times a day, and every time—” She gestured toward the stack.

  “Wow, that man is a gem. Sure wish he’d pay attention to Connie.”

  “Me, too. They’d be a cute couple, though they are really different.” Susan sighed, feeling so bone weary that she thought she could sleep for a week. Yet when she tried to sleep, she jerked awake at every noise, every phone call, her heart pounding.

  “So,” Roxie said in a casual tone, “have you heard from Mark this afternoon?”

  “He called awhile ago.”

  Roxie sent her a quick glance before turning back to the bowls of ice cream she was preparing. “What did he say?”

  “He asked how I was doing about eight times in a row, and then he hung up. It was sort of awkward.”